


High Rise

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:38:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4650831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(idle rich au) His legs clench around Daiki’s torso and his lips push against Daiki’s teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Rise

They’re high enough above the city so even when they open all the shades in the bathroom no one can see in and they’ve got a nice view of the skyline sprawling out before them—not as nice, Daiki decides, as the one from his bedroom in his parents’ house, the river and the bridge and the other side of the city—but that one’s old hat, the kind of thing that’s only impressive when he goes away for a good long while and comes back to. But this one will do, a suite of his own after he’d gotten his mom to take him to her business conference here under the slim guise of learning something (and he’s been bored out of his mind at the meetings she’s forced him to attend even when he’s sexting Seijuurou under the table, so he supposes in some way he is paying for this) with the real purpose of inviting Seijuurou back after his internship’s hours are over. And while Seijuurou has a parentally-financed apartment here of his own, it doesn’t have the kind of hotel amenities like matching bathrobes and real room service (even if Seijuurou has to bring his own wine because Daiki’s mother draws the line at ordering for him even though her liquor cabinet at home is his to use at his leisure).

And there’s also the bathroom and the bathtub by the huge window, big enough for both of them to fit comfortably with plenty of room to do whatever they so desire. And Daiki’s got a lot of desires, and he’s pretty sure from the way Seijuurou’s texted him that he’s got them, too. Daiki draws the water cool; the day’s been muggy and hazy and the night promises more of the same and that’s what Seijuurou’s going to be coming in from. And he’d told Daiki not to be hard when he’d gotten there, so a cold bath is probably going to be better for him right now than a warm one, especially if they’re going to take a while.

He eases himself into the water when the tub is full enough, leaning back and rolling his shoulders against the side. The cool water is sweet as maple syrup for his warm skin, even after having spent most of the day in air conditioning (just the memory of the heat outside makes him shudder). It’s still light enough now in late August for the lights to stay off and to see the pinks and blues and oranges of the afternoon’s curtain call like some kind of swirled fruity sorbet over the jagged edge of the skyline—Seijuurou better get here quick if he doesn’t want to miss it.

And as if on cue (he half expects to hear an admonishment for being so impatient) the door opens and Seijuurou’s bare feet make their precise way across the tiles. He’s still in his pants and shirt, already loosening the slim tie around his collar. Daiki nods approvingly, and Seijuurou raises an eyebrow, slowing the pace of his hands.

“Try to keep yourself from getting too excited,” says Seijuurou.

Well, too excited is all relative. And no matter how deeply Daiki feels in the pit of his stomach the way Seijuurou’s fingers work the knot in his tie or the buttons on his shirt, it’s going to be nothing compared to when he can run his hands up those firm thighs, when those pretty little fingers of Seijuurou’s will run through his hair and curl against his head, when that voice will rise and break like a wave in a rough surf (and even thinking about those is not half as breathtaking and distracting as when it’s actually going to happen).

“Did you put the wine in to chill?” says Daiki.

“Yes,” says Seijuurou, pausing with the last button on his shirt. “The ice was already a bit melted, so I turned the thermostat down.”

The shirt flutters to the floor and Seijuurou starts on his pants. He undoes the button carefully, and then the fly, and then pulls them slowly off his legs and damn. Daiki tries his hardest not to moan (and he definitely feels this in his cock) because Seijuurou’s legs, even this far, even with his boxer briefs still covering way too much skin, are fucking fantastic. Seijuurou’s got the kind of thighs that could lift gallons of water on their own, thick and firm and strong and God, Daiki wants to touch them right now, wants to feel them—Seijuurou is looking at him in a lazy sort of half-amusement, a look he’s had perfected ever since Daiki’s known him.

Daiki scowls. “Are you going to take them off or not?”

“Patience,” says Seijuurou, and then he turns toward the door. “I’m going to check on the wine.”

What a fucking tease. At least Daiki’s going to get to see him take them off (if he has to wait all year, he will; not that Seijuurou’s ego needs the boost but it would definitely be worth it). And then Seijuurou reappears, thumbs hooked in his waistband. He drags them down even more slowly than the pants, bending over forward so that Daiki can’t see his thighs or ass or cock properly until he gets them all the way off and stands up straight.

Daiki sighs appreciatively; Seijuurou’s expression stays on his face as placid as a mountain in the still summer air. And then he steps toward the bathtub and in, settling himself right in Daiki’s lap, facing him legs spread wide enough for Daiki’s torso to fit in between with plenty of room.

“Wash me,” Seijuurou commands.

The soap smells like French perfume; Daiki lathers it onto the washcloth and rubs gently at Seijuurou’s neck and shoulders. Seijuurou squirms slightly in his lap, making Daiki’s hands jerk suddenly to the side—he takes extra care on Seijuurou’s chest and sides, but by then Seijuurou’s moving on purpose anyway just to get him bothered and, well. This bath is not for getting clean. And when Seijuurou tires of this, when Daiki’s sliding the washcloth across his abs, he pulls Daiki in for a kiss.

His mouth is warm and sour; he’d already had a drink or two before he’d left—not that, Daiki supposes, he can’t afford it from both a physical and financial standpoint (and not that he doesn’t need it from all the pressure on him). His tongue is loose and probing, and it’s Daiki who loses his breath first and pulls back, when his hands have drifted down to cup Seijuurou’s ass. Seijuurou laughs, low and quick in the back of his throat, a sound that’s well-practiced but none the less hot for it.

“Fuck, Sei…”

“Don’t be so vulgar,” says Seijuurou, kissing him again.

His legs clench around Daiki’s torso and his lips push against Daiki’s teeth. Daiki’s fingers reach in, around the sweet, lush, curve of Seijuurou’s bottom—it’s Seijuurou who pulls back this time.

“Not today.”

“No?”

“No.”

Daiki gives Seijuurou’s ass one last squeeze before trailing his fingers away, up Seijuurou’s sides. Seijuurou drums his wet fingers against Daiki’s shoulders and then slides backward, settling himself between Daiki’s thighs. Feeling his hard cock brush against his stomach is one thing, but seeing it like this, the way Seijuurou’s putting it on display just for him, makes Daiki’s own cock twitch. He reaches out a hand, trailing it down Seijuurou’s sternum and then his belly. Seijuurou hisses when Daiki’s finger hits his navel, and then his cock—he visibly spasms when Daiki reaches the head. Daiki grins. Seijuurou wriggles, moving a little bit closer, and finally close enough for Daiki to grip both of their cocks at once.

It feels like half-relief, half-intensifying of the torture to finally touch himself; the friction of the water and Seijuurou is driving him further into a frenzy and both of them know it—and fuck, he’s not going to swallow his voice anymore (and it doesn’t matter if he’s the first one to break). He moans, increasing the pressure of his hand and the pace of it, brushing his thumb over Seijuurou’s tip. And that cracks Seijuurou’s resolve; his voice makes a wordless sound that’s halfway between a moan and a shriek and it’s getting to be too much too soon.

Daiki slows the pace just a little and Seijuurou glares at him.

“Don’t.”

He’s inching even closer, too; it’s times like these that Daiki wants to make him beg for the release he so clearly wants, to drag the full extent of his wantonness out of him and get off on watching him squirm—but he’s too desperate himself, too hungry for his own finish, the way they’re clearly headed (and he’s going to get there first). He squeezes his fist, pumps up and down again—and then he’s spilling out into the water; his grip is slackening but he won’t let it (Seijuurou won’t let it); the warmth is settling inside of him but Seijuurou is still gasping and then he moans again, the sound sweeter and lovelier than anything—and a few seconds later he comes, too. He leans forward onto Daiki’s shoulder to collect his breath, and Daiki rubs his back. The dirtiness of the water hasn’t set in yet; neither has the need to get clean and get into bed. Outside, the sun is setting and the light is dimming; half the sky is already navy sprinkled with blinking airplane lights, and Seijuurou’s arm tightens around his waist.


End file.
